


A Tale As Old As Time

by blackkat



Series: Blyla Drabbles [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Crack, F/M, Humor, or maybe dragons are cute, the moral here is never trust Quinlan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Rex groans, slumping down into the chair behind him. “I got you your rose and didn't ask questions, Bly, what more did you want from me,” he says, muffled as he drags his hands over his face. “The beast looked like it wanted toeatme, okay?”“Maybe it should have,” Wolffe says, entirely unimpressed. “You traded Bly to it. Forfood.”Rex grimaces. “When you phrase it like that—”
Relationships: Aayla Secura & Quinlan Vos, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: Blyla Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615657
Comments: 27
Kudos: 610





	A Tale As Old As Time

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt: Aayla/Bly Beauty and the Beast AU, but Bly is the Beauty and Aayla is the Beast.

“ _What_ ,” Bly says, incredulous.

“You said you wanted a rose,” Rex says mulishly, though from the droop of his shoulders he’s fully aware that this _isn't_ what Bly wanted by any stretch of the imagination.

Bly stares at his brother, contemplating how best to hit him over the head. A frying pan would probably work. For that matter, so would a stool. “I _said_ I wanted bare-root plants. For the _garden_. Not a really sad bouquet. And not one that comes with _monster_ _strings attached_.”

Rex groans, slumping down into the chair behind him. “I wasn’t about to ask a beast for cuttings,” he says, muffled as he drags his hands over his face. “It looked like it wanted to eat me, okay?”

“Maybe it should have,” Wolffe says, entirely unimpressed. “You traded Bly to it. For _food_.”

Rex grimaces. “When you phrase it like that—”

“ _How else is he supposed to phrase it_?”

With an offended growl, Rex throws his hands up. “My head was all fuzzy, and I couldn’t think straight! It made sense at the time.”

“Sense,” Bly repeats, folding his arms over his chest. He doesn’t smack Rex in the face with the rose, mostly because it’s an innocent flower and hasn’t done anything to deserve that. “How does trading _me_ to a _monster_ make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Wolffe says, rolling his eyes. “Obviously someone coerced him. Or some _thing_.”

Bly has to swallow at that, indignation slipping sideways into something colder. “You said you ate the food,” he says, and trades looks with Wolffe. “Something enchanted?”

Wolffe just shrugs. “Ask Cody. He’s the one who’s taken up with a faery,” he says, as if Obi-Wan counts as a faery when _disaster_ is still an applicable word. “Fey rules, though.”

Shit. Bly rubs a hand over his face. Rex ate food without an invitation, picked a rose without asking, so he owes a debt. The monster demanded compensation in the form of the brother who asked for the rose, and Rex agreed.

“Fey bullshit,” Bly mutters. “Of _course_ it’s fey bullshit. But we’ve been fine so far! We leave milk out, and we planted foxglove—”

“That’s for the wild fey,” Rex points out. “If this is something from one of the courts…” He trails off, then gives Bly a helpless shrug. “It was a really pretty castle.”

Almost definitely something from one of the high courts, then. Bly swallows, looking down at the rose in his hand. It’s a pale, dream-like blue, not a color he’s ever seen before in a rose. Rex picked it for him, because he wanted to bring back something Bly would like even if his trip to look for work in the city was a failure. Something tricked him into eating, while he was there. Something put him in its debt and demanded a life, and if Bly doesn’t go, it’s going to come for Rex and take him instead.

“Guess I’ll get to see it firsthand,” he says, glancing up, and when Wolffe and Rex both glare at him, he raises his hands. “A deal is a deal. You gave your word.”

This is, of course, nothing saying that once Rex's promise is fulfilled, Bly can't act on his own. It’s been years since the war, but—he’s kept in practice.

“You _can't_ , Bly,” Rex says. Demands, really, and he rises, scowling, looking like he’s going to physically put himself between Bly and the door. “There’s a _monster_ in that castle. Who the hell knows what it’s going to do to you. Give me a day, let me talk to Cody and Obi-Wan, and—they might have a way out.”

“Better that way,” Wolffe agrees, eyes narrow, mouth tight. He looks like he really, really wants his sword.

Bly looks from Wolffe to Rex, taking in the guilt on Rex's face, the determination on Wolffe’s. “All right,” he says after a moment. Takes a step back, then turns, and says, “I'm just—going to pack. Don’t worry about getting me for dinner.”

“Bly…” Rex hesitates, then grimaces, and says, “I'm sorry.”

Bly just shrugs. “Fey bullshit,” he says. “Anyone could have gotten caught. Don’t feel guilty or I’ll have to punch you.” With a wave over his shoulder, he heads up the stairs, steps into his room, and closes the door. Stands there a moment, listening, and tracks the rise of voices in the main room, then heavy steps. The front door slams, and a moment later Wolffe whistles high and sharp to call the horses across their paddock. Wolffe and Rex must be in a particular hurry; within ten minutes they’ve saddled up, and the beat of hooves passes beneath the window, heading towards the town.

Bly's always been the rule-follower in the family, the one who sticks to his orders and doesn’t waver. Even so, it’s more than a little amusing that Wolffe and Rex have apparently forgotten that he’s got the same blood as them. If they think he’s going to sit around kicking his heels while some sort of monster sets its sights on Rex, they're entirely mistaken.

Quickly, methodically, Bly packs a bag with necessities, retrieves his sword from the wall, and buckles it on. Wearing full armor is probably too aggressive, but Bly considers it anyway for a long moment before turning away, picking up his satchel and slinging it over a shoulder. Then, one step towards the door, he pauses.

The blue rose is lying on the bed, petals still as perfect as if it was freshly picked. Not at all as if Rex stuffed it in a saddlebag and rode all day with it to get home. It’s still bright, pretty, like Bly could pick it up and find dew clinging to its petals even now.

A blue rose. Bly's never heard of such a thing before.

He takes it with him as he leaves, tucks it into his own saddlebag as he guides his horse out of the courtyard. There’s no real reason behind it, no real thought that Bly can pin down.

It just feels right, that’s all.

As far as Bly knows, there’s never been a castle in this part of the country. The front was near here, at one point, and Bly crawled across every muddy, blood-soaked inch of earth from here to the capital, keeping the enemy back, but he certainly never saw anything like the place Rex described.

Even so, when he crests a rise between the trees, reining his mare in, there's a castle in gold and white and blue rising from the earth like it’s always been there, sprawling gardens spreading out around its feet. Bly can see immediately why Rex, caught in the midst of a storm and weary to the bone, would have made for it even if he didn’t recognize it; the place looks inviting, shining, like a beacon.

Fey magic, Bly thinks grimly, and presses a hand to the hilt of his sword. There’s iron in the pommel, a thin thread wound through it to guard against glamours. It’s saved him before, kept misdirections from turning his path, gave him a reputation as a grounded, untrickable commander in the civil war, but even with his bare skin touching the iron the castle stays where it is, unchanged.

Strong fey magic, then. That’s what Bly was afraid of. Rex is steady, solid; anyone who can glamour him has plenty of ability to spare. With a grimace, he presses a thumb to the hilt of his sword for a moment, trying to convince himself that this isn't the most idiotic thing he’s done in years, and fails miserably.

A strong fey of some sort’s set up camp here, though. Bly's got a reason to walk right into its castle, and more than that, he’s got a brother on the line. Appease it or kill it, but something has to be done, and Bly's in the best situation to do it.

Setting his jaw, he kicks his mare into a canter, following the long, arching curve of the road up towards the castle gates. They stand open, twined with blue roses like they’ve never been closed, and Bly passes them without trouble. Slows to a trot on a path of white stone that curves past the wide front doors, then comes to a halt near them, and pauses. Announcing himself seems idiotic, and he grimaces, then slides off his mare. She stands where she is, patient, and Bly loops her reins around her neck and knots her lead around an edge of ornate lattice where she can reach the grass. Then, grimly, he turns to face the castle itself.

The main doors stand open as well. Inside, sunlight floods the entry hall, and Bly can hear birdsong, breezes. The white stone glows, and the gold edging shines.

Fey glamour, Bly reminds himself, and refuses to be swayed. He takes the three steps up with care, minding his footfalls, and passes through the great doors, halfway expecting them to swing shut and seal behind him. They don’t, thankfully, but somehow that’s almost more unnerving than an outright hostile gesture. Instead of something he can react to, Bly's left with silence and sunlight and open halls, and he hates it.

Maybe, Bly thinks grimly, he should have gotten a description of this beast before he ducked out. That probably would have been the smart thing to do.

Bly can't see any signs of life at all in the castle, though. He makes his way through empty white halls and airy rooms, winds his way through until the hallway he’s been following suddenly opens out into a garden, but there’s still no trace of someone living here. For a moment he considers that Rex could have seen a ghost, some sort of spirit, but dismisses the thought a moment later; Rex isn't easily spooked, and he very definitely said _monster_.

Whatever monster lives here, though, it’s got an eye for gardening. Bly makes his way down into the neat green paths, lined with overflowing beds and head-sized blooms, and can't help but feel a flicker of gardener’s envy. There are more blue roses here, too, and he pauses in front of one, reaching up to skim a touch over the deep green of the leaves. They're wildly healthy, but the color is still unnerving despite how lovely it is. Bly wonders how they were bred, if the growing of them is any different from normal roses. Maybe they're fey roses, or from across the sea—

“Ah,” a voice says behind him. “You're here at last.”

Bly twitches, wrenches around with a hand already on his blade. Then he freezes, stock-still and staring at the dragon looming over him.

Suddenly the wide, empty halls make a hell of a lot more sense.

“You—” he starts, then realizes that following that with _are a dragon_ is not going to do much for the monster’s impression of his intelligence, and closes his mouth with a click. Drags his thoughts into some semblance of order, and says instead, “You're the one who made a bargain with my brother Rex?”

The dragon tilts its head. It’s a _small_ dragon, sleek and slender and jewel-blue, with long dark claws and bright eyes as it looks Bly over. “Bargain?” it repeats, and—Bly might be going mildly crazy, but that voice is definitely feminine, light and sweet. “I didn’t make a bargain. He said that he had a brother who was interested in gardening and I asked if he would bring his brother back with him, to see my gardens. I've been having trouble getting my poppies to grow.”

Abruptly, Bly decides he’s going to march straight home and shove his boot up Rex's _ass_. “ _Gardening_?” he repeats. “You wanted me to talk _gardening advice_ with you?”

He gets the feeling the dragon is laughing at him. Her eyes crinkle, her head ducks, and a curl of smoke escapes her nostrils, only to be stolen by the breeze. “It was a request,” she says. “For when you had time. I'm sorry you thought it was an urgent thing.”

He thought it was so urgent that Rex was going to get _eaten_ if he didn’t come immediately. Bly scowls, releasing his sword, and folds his arms across his chest. “That bastard told me a monster tricked him into a bargain, to make up for eating your food and taking a rose.”

The dragon blinks one, cocks her head, blinks again. Then, instantly, her scales brighten, like someone just lit a flame behind them, and she hisses. It makes every hair on Bly's body stand straight up, terror flaring, but before he can do more than twitch the dragon spins around and surges up through the garden paths, shaking blue roses loose in her wake. Bly bolts after her, more out of instinct than anything else, and tries to keep from stepping on the sharp spines tipping her tail.

“ _Quinlan_!” the dragon shouts as she lunges into the castle. “ _Quinlan Vos_ , did you trick that soldier into thinking he’d made a deal with you?”

From above, on the curving staircase, there’s a sound of deep offense, and a man leans over the railing. “I would _never_ , Aayla,” he says. “And watch your tone, young lady, I'm still your teacher—”

With a growl like an angry cat, Aayla leaps, landing on the staircase in front of the dark-haired man. “Quinlan,” she says reprovingly. “How drunk did you even _get_ him?”

Drunk, Bly thinks, and groans, pressing a hand over his eyes. Of course. That would explain it.

Quinlan’s expression doesn’t even try for innocence. He folds his arms, arching a brow at the bristling dragon in front of him, and smirks. “Why? Looking to invite him back? It was just a joke, anyway. Who would trade a whole person for a _rose_?”

“They're very pretty roses,” Bly says, and wants to kick himself for it. Clears his throat instead, and adds. “Just. To be fair.”

Aayla gives him a grin for the compliment, and it’s pretty even if there are way too many teeth the size of Bly's _head_ suddenly visible. “Thank you,” she says. “I’ve been breeding them for years now.” Turning back to Quinlan, she narrows her eyes at him, and asks, “What face did you show him?”

Quinlan stares at Bly for a long moment, not _nearly_ as easygoing as when he looks at Aayla, and then snorts. “Minotaur,” he confesses, offhand. “Plus some extra teeth.”

Yeah, Bly's willing to bet that was enough to unnerve Rex, especially if he was drunk. He sighs, rubbing his forehead, and says, “So there’s no bargain? Not even a little one?”

The look Quinlan gives him is deeply displeased, but he nods grudgingly. “It was a _rose_ , not a firstborn child,” he mutters. “Aayla, get rid of that one. Mace is going to be here tomorrow and I don’t want vermin in the castle.”

Bly splutters. “ _Excuse_ you?” he demands. “ _Vermin_?”

Aayla doesn’t react for a long moment. Then, deliberately, she shifts, twisting sideways off the bannister and tumbling down. Bly jerks back, bracing himself for the impact of a creature that big on comparatively fragile stone—

As she falls, though, Aayla changes. Scales and wings and tail vanish, and a woman hits the floor instead, light as a feather. She’s still blue-skinned, but her eyes are the same bright warm brown as the dragon, and she tosses thick braids back and gives Bly a smile.

“You make for a terrible host,” she tells Quinlan, and gives Bly a quick, conspiring smile as she threads her arm through his. “This man—”

“Bly,” Bly offers, a little bemused as long as he can ignore the…faery? Dragon? Sorcerer? Something magical, at the very least, who’s glaring down at them.

“Bly,” Aayla corrects, and gently steers him back towards the gardens. “Bly came all this way just to help me with the poppies, I'm not about to send him _away_. Besides, you're the one who arranged this, Master. Shouldn’t you be making sure he has everything he needs?”

“I _can't believe_ ,” Quinlan calls after them, aggrieved, “that I have such a disobedient, disrespectful apprentice! Aayla, get away from him!”

Aayla rolls her eyes and leads Bly around the edge of the garden, towards a pond covered in lily pads. “He’s fine,” she tells Bly, patting his arm. “Just a little territorial. It comes with being a Wildfae lord.”

Well, Bly thinks with a sinking sort of resignation. A faery lord’s probably out to eat him. At least the dragon seems sweet. “Sorry about the…” He trails off, waving a vague hand at his sword. “I thought someone was going to come after Rex if I didn’t show up.”

Aayla smiles at him, quick and warm, and Bly's stomach clenches a little, the way it hasn’t since he met a minor goddess during his time in the army. Shaak Ti was impressive, and Bly might have stared a bit, but—she didn’t touch him the way Aayla is right now, delicate fingers with too much strength curled against his pulse-point, making his heart race. “You're very brave, aren’t you, Bly? You must love your family very much.”

“They're my brothers,” Bly says honestly, and looks around the wide sweep of the grounds. “I—do you have family here?”

Aayla’s smile is a little sad. “No. My family gave me up to Quinlan when I was a child, so I could learn magic from him. He’s all I need, though.”

Lonely, Bly thinks, and turns his hand, curling his fingers over hers. Squeezes, just for a moment, and says, “You take care of the gardens around here?”

That, at least, makes her brighten faintly, warmth threading back into her smile. “Of course. Quinlan would just have a hedge maze if I didn’t do something about it.” She smirks at Bly, inviting him to share the joke. “He’s a grumpy old man.”

In the air above them, a spot of golden light flares, indignant, and Aayla laughs. She snatches it out of the air in a smooth motion, holding it up, and says, “Eavesdropping gets you nothing but trouble. Weren’t you the one to tell me that, Master?” Then, deliberately, she squishes the spell between her thumb and forefinger.

From the castle, there’s an annoyed shout, but Aayla ignores it, pulling Bly deeper into the neat sprawl of green. Bly is ginning despite himself, and when Aayla glances back, she laughs at him.

“Never met a faery lord before?” she asks.

“Or a dragon,” Bly says, and in the face of her pretty brown eyes and the humor in her expression, he can't stop himself from adding, “Honestly, I think I like the dragon more.”

Aayla grins, then reaches out and pulls a blue rose from one of the bushes as they pass. She leans up, tucking it behind Bly's ear, and lets the backs of her knuckles skim the gold streaks tattooed on his cheek as she drops her hand.

“You have good taste,” she says, and Bly can't help but agree.


End file.
